Morte

Let the day perish wherein
I was born,
And the night which said,
There is a man-child conceived.

4  Let that day be darkness;
Let not God from above seek for it,
Neither let the light shine upon it.5  
Let darkness and the shadow of death

claim it for their own;
Let a cloud dwell upon it;
Let all that maketh black the day terrify it.
As for that night,

let thick darkness seize upon it:
Let it not rejoice
among the days of the year;
Let it not come into the number

of the months.   
Lo, let that night be barren;
Let no joyful voice come therein.
Let them curse it that curse the day,

Who are ready to rouse up
Let thereof be dark:
Let it look for light,
but have none;

Neither let it behold
the eyelids of the morning:  
  Because it shut not up the doors
of my mother’s womb,

Nor hid trouble from mine eyes.
Why died I not from the womb?
Why did I not give up
the ghost when my mother bare me?

Why did the knees receive me? Or why the breast,
that I should suck?   
For now should
I have lain down and been quiet;

I should have slept;
then had I been at rest, 
With kings and counsellors of the earth,
Who built up waste places for themselves